


Temperance

by The Egg Crusher (FenrisTheFabulous)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Humor, Blood, Elvhenan, F/M, Modern Girl in Thedas, Rags to Riches, Slavery, Slow Burn, Solas is Fen'Harel, Time Travel Fix-It, Violence, because I like sexy gods, the eggmance is real
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-04-27 13:21:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5050150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FenrisTheFabulous/pseuds/The%20Egg%20Crusher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*****-A modern girl in ancient Elvhenan fic-******</p><p>Marie is a not-so-normal law student, with a more than strange life. When she ends up in Thedas, after what she suspects to have been her death in her own world, she's forced into slavery, having to survive on her own merits in an empire she thought was only fiction. </p><p>But the rebellion is starting, and the slaves are being freed. Fen'Harel is stirring up chaos across Elvhenan, and Marie is bound to be stuck in the middle of a war she was never meant to be a part of.</p><p>Or was she?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blood for Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [fullmetal_drosophila](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fullmetal_drosophila/works) for being my beta for this chapter!
> 
> Elvhen Phrases: 
> 
> Fendhis lasa (general translation): go suck wolf penis ☺

Her life was anything but normal. That is, if normal is considered “usual”, and “usual” is common as well as lacking in any aspects either insane, impossible, or mixes of the two.

            Wake up in the morning, go to work, have friends, do normal people things like “get brunch with the girls” or “go on dates.”

            Ha, go on dates. Yeah, right.

            Try: accidently staring at a man until he becomes scared or so impossibly uncomfortable that he either walks away, leaves the room, or just plain blurts “Could you stop?” Sometimes, if she was especially lucky, he’d do all three. Apparently, she was awkward. As well as slightly intimidating.

            And also just scary in general.

            To her credit, it wasn't as if she would be staring _at_ them, per se, but rather _near_ them, at nothing in particular, whenever she was deep in thought. She stares a lot, or glares. She prefers nicer terms, but glaring would be a more accurate descriptor.  

            As to how she hallucinated seeing ghosts sometimes; that was just like the cherry on top. _Thought I was weird before?_ she'd think. O _h, you don't even know._

            They wouldn’t even look like people, or be that scary for that matter. Mostly, she would see faint flashes of colors, sometimes somewhat in the shape of a body. But they would be much too faint and translucent usually to see properly, like misshapen shadows on the floor or in the light streaming through a window. They would appear and disappear right when she’d see them.Terribly worrying for her sanity, nonetheless.

            But then she’d see some in her dreams. And apparently they had personalities, and made for ironically terrifying yet intriguing subconscious-sleep-self conversations. Who would’ve guessed. Too bad she wouldn’t remember how they looked when she woke up. Or that much of what they said at all, for that matter.

            Funny she wasn’t scared of them in her dreams, and only in person. _Crazy is as crazy_ _does_ , she’d think.

            Her life was hilariously strange. She thought sometimes maybe she was the strange one, rather than her life, but then that would be admitting she’s crazy. Or maybe she really is crazy, her life is a mess of random paranormal phenomena, and thinking about it too hard is just like scratching a huge zit; _the more you scratch the bigger it gets, and then it pops and gross crap gets all over your face._ She laughed. The metaphor didn’t even make sense.

            “Marie …” she felt a tap on her shoulder. And then a grip.

            “Marie!”

              _Hehe, my eyes are shaking … wait, am **I** shaking?_

“Oh my god, Marie, snap out of it!” said her sister, Cara, who was shaking her as hard as she could.

            Marie giggled. “Cara … I … think,” she swayed towards the bar, “I think-‘

            “That you’re drunk?”

            “Ssshhhhh,” Marie said, putting a finger to Cara’s lips, and then tapping her on the nose, “Hey, come closer. I needa … needa tell you somethin’.”

            “No.”

            “It’s really …” Marie hiccupped, and then grinned stupidly, “reeaaallly imporn’nt.”

            Cara looked at her, an eyebrow quirked, her arms crossed, “Oh, really?”

            She nodded, or more like bobbed her head vigorously, “Yes. _Really.”_

Her sister sighed, and leaned in.

            Marie cupped her mouth with one hand, “I think … I’m _insane_ ,” she said in a very loud whisper, the type that could be heard from the other end of the small bar. They were already getting rude looks, and the bar tender was starting to look rather pissed.

            A moment ago, Marie was blubbering gibberish, while banging the ends of two beer mugs together semi-rhythmically in a sort of trance-like state. 

            Cara thought she was trying to sing, though whatever song it was she didn’t know. She assumed it was an elven chant or something similar from Marie’s favorite video game series, Dragon Age.

            Marie was a complete geek.

            Right then, though, she was talking about how crazy she was.

            “Ya know, sometimes, when I’m asleep, I’m _awake._ ” 

            “Oh.”

            “Like,” her face scrunched quizzically, “like I’m more there … than I am _here …_ ya know?” 

            “Honestly? No.”

            “It’s soooo coooool.” she said. For a moment she stared into the distance, her face scrunched in thought, not that she was really thinking all that much. Her expression became as serious as she could make it and she looked at Cara pointedly.

            “I also see ghosts, in my dreams. They talk to me.”

            “Ok, that’s it. We’re leaving.”

            “They’re like colorful mist-people! I’ve met blue ones, and red ones, and- hey!”

            Cara grabbed her by the arm and hulled her off the bar stool, followed by much drunken protesting by Marie.

            Groaning, she put a tip down on the counter for the bartender and started pulling her stumbling sister towards the door.

            It had been Marie’s first time drinking (like that was any excuse) which was quite sad for a 25-year-old law student and supposedly grown woman. She was a prude, in every meaning of the word. “ _Drinking is irresponsible and clouds the mind_ ,” she said. In reality, she was just scared of any possible situation in which she wouldn’t be in control mentally. Her sanity seemed too questionable to trust. The only reason she agreed was out of blackmail and heavy persuasion from her sister.

 _“Don’t you wanna boyfriend?”_ Cara had said.

            “ _I’m fine by myself.”_

 _Maybe,_ she thought.

            _“No, you're not. Now then, you have to loosen up. Bars are like the hunting grounds for men. Also, alcohol. It helps.”_

Obviously, it didn’t turn out as planned.  

            “Fenedhis lasa …” Marie said under her breath in a string of mumbles when Cara gave a particularly hard tug. They were almost at the door, and Marie was weakly slapping her sister’s hand that gipped her wrist.

            “Oh god, not more creepy elven again.”

            Marie went silent for a moment, wearing an angry expression that looked more stupid than threatening.

            “Please don’t say any more weird shit,” Cara mumbled, “I actually like this bar-“

            “GO SUCK WOLF DICK!”

            _Fuck._            

 

* * *

 

_A floating city above the sea, crystal and stone, magic and blood, built on lives once lived and lost all the same. Spiraling paths and roads that lead everywhere and anywhere; mirrors of smooth glass that ripple beneath touch, whispering cold on skin. Dignitaries, nobles, Gods. White and bright and **perfect-**_

_**But not.**_

_She was broken, beaten. Blood on skin and chains. Tell me I am dead, tell me –_

_Screaming, whipping, flesh bare and broken. Red, too red. Metallic taste on tongues, eyes sunken and shallow. Eyes and arms and legs – help me, it hurts –_

_Carve yourself into my face. Mark me as your own. Red vines beneath eyes and brows, cresting cheekbones and painting lips. Let it be. Spirit-self in dreams where I am free. Myself, free._

_Beat me. Tear me. Scar me. I will not relent._

_Use me, defile me, kill me. We will not relent._

_Never, for eternity._

          

Marie awoke, gasping for breath.

           The dream, it was too real. She'd had those that were similar, but never like this. She could hear screams, cries, sad whisperings too quiet to make-out. And the blood _– the blood_ – dripping and swirling – oozing from bodies and falling like tears from eyes –

 

           Too much. The dream was too much. Thinking about it made her head hurt. She didn’t understand what it meant, and neither did she remember the words, but recalling the images and voices sent chills up her spine and made her blood run cold. Part of what she remembered reminded her of Dragon Age in some ways, but … that didn’t make sense.

            That was no dream of a delusional fangirl.

            It was dark.

            It was horrible.

            It was … blood curdling.   

            Horrifying.

            She felt like crying, and she wasn’t sure why.

            Dragging a hand up the side of her face, she held her head. Her forehead was wet with sweat, nearly dripping. Her breaths were still ragged, and she tried to focus on calming them.

 

            1 – 2 – 1 – 2

 

            Deep breath in, deep breath out.

            After a few minutes, her calm was returning to her, but not for long.

            The headache hit her like a pile of bricks. She forgot she went out drinking last night, for the first time. Ever.

            She was going to kill Cara. Did she give her some sort of hallucinogen when she was drunk out of her mind?

            Lying back down on her bed, she grabbed her pillow, shoved it over her face, and moaned. This was going to be a horrible day.

 

~

 

It was an hour until she got up. The sun was almost fully out behind the clouds and the rural area around her house was still slightly dark and misty from the rainy season. 

            Being a horrible morning person, as well as having a pounding migraine that wouldn’t go away, on top of recently having her worst this-proves-I’m-crazy dream yet, Marie was in a very bad mood.

            Her hair was a mess, her mouth tasted like stale bread and expired mayo, which she guessed was from the alcohol, and her head felt like it might split open. But school. She _never_ missed school, unless she was physically unable to get herself there, in which case she would most usually force someone else to give her a ride. Bottom line, she was going, even if she had to drive herself. 

            She got out of bed and went to her bathroom first, grabbing some ibuprofen pills for the headache and swallowing them with a glass of water. She got in the shower right away, and sighed as she felt the hot water run down her skin. The house was chilly, and she was happy for the nice sensation to help her forget her migraine.

            She brushed her teeth, flossed –yes, she’s one of the few people who floss- did her daily face-care regimen, and then braided her wet, dirty-blonde hair neatly down her back. She wore one of her usual outfits; casual pants, a nice sweater, and a pair of flats. Overall, she looked very boring, but extremely well put-together.

            She dug through her messenger bag and found her phone.

           

**Marie (6:34 a.m.):**

I have a migraine. Drive me?

 

**Cara (6:37 a.m.):**

Sure

But if you start talking in nerd-speak again I’m kicking you out

 

**Marie (6:37 a.m.):**

What?

 

**Cara (6:40 a.m.):**

Nothing

You freak of nature

Coming now

 

            Marie put her phone back in her messenger bag and started heading out the door with a frown. Apparently, she did something stupid last night, not like that’s surprising. She didn’t think it would go well in the first place.  

            She hoped it was just the alcohol. But she had this nagging feeling that it was something more. Shaking her head, she sighed and went out to wait on the driveway for Cara.

 

~

 

“There she is, my beautiful sister. As intimidating and badly dressed as ever.”

            “I’m not intimidating.”

            “But you’re badly dressed?”

            Marie looked down at her sweater. It was long, black, smooth, and formfitting. Her pants were a light brown.

            “I look professional,” she said, walking towards the car as Cara continued to look at her incredulously.

            “No, you look like a middle-aged real-estate agent. A _male_ real-estate agent. Who doesn’t know how to dress. Just get you some khakis and you’d be set.”

            Marie got in the front passenger seat and slammed the door. She thought she looked nice. Dressing “pretty” was a waste of time. She was used to her sister's snark though, and knew that it was just her way of showing she cared. As well as just being annoying. 

            “Also, what’s with that braid?” Cara said, as she pulled away from the curb. “Aspiring to be a part-time nun?”

            Marie’s head throbbed, “Shut up. Please.”

            “Or what?” Cara laughed, “You’ll … _glare_ at me?”

            Marie glared at her.   

            “Heh. No wonder you scare off men.”

            Cara proceeded to laugh stupidly, while Marie stared holes through her head. She didn’t need a man. The fact that she scared them off didn’t bother her too much, at least. Her love life was nowhere near being a priority.  

            “Sooo, about your video game problem.”      

            Cara took a turn onto the highway, which ran through the dense forest and rocky terrain of the area. The mist was heavier there, the trees blocking out the scant sunlight.

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

            The trees seemed to be pushing into the road, that’s how tall they were. The eerie darkness made strange shadows, and as Marie stared out at them from the window, a sharp ringing in her head made her hiss in pain.

            “Listen, last night you were speaking elvish, or elven, or whatever the hell it’s called. At one point you were actually singing a little song. You even had a dance to go along with it and everything. It was fucking weird. And I’m … I was worried.”

            The forest was getting progressively denser as they drove on, the mist becoming more thick and grey. The highway was completely empty, no car in sight. A prickling sensation tickled at her neck and down her spine and arms.

            She fidgeted uncomfortably.

            “I told you me drinking was a bad idea.”

            Cara sighed, “That’s not the point.”

            In the shadows of the trees, Marie thought she saw a flash of red. She blinked hard, and rubbed her eyes. The tingling sensation happened again, but this time was painful as it pulsed through her head and down her entire body. She shivered.

            Cara was saying something, but she didn't hear.

            A moment later, the red figure appeared again, making her jump in her seat. It was brighter. More solid. More _there_ than before _._

            She might be crazy, but this wasn’t normal. Even for her. And the strange feeling of fear in her gut was nagging at her, making her head hurt and her heart beat fast. 

            She felt like something bad was going to happen, and soon.  

            “Cara, I think … I think you should slow down,” she said, timidly.

            They were speeding down the open highway, still no other cars in sight. They were coming to a narrower section, where two of the four lanes on each side combined into one. The trees were growing gradually more close to the road, and Marie, for some inexplicable reason, thought the area was becoming darker, though the forest had not gotten anymore dense.

            There was another flash of red among the trees, but this time Marie noticed it had a body; a see-through red-torso, no legs, red light from its form glowing in the mist. She had thought it might have been one of her hallucinations, but she had never seen one so bright, so _tangible._ And its shape … was familiar.

            It flashed, and then was gone.

            _That looked a lot like … no, that’s impossible._

“Cara, _slow down-“_

 _“_ We’re the only ones on the road. It’s fine. Also, don’t change the subject.”

The ringing in her head came back again, but this time much worse, and much more loud. It was like something was trying to get in … into her head?

            Sharp pin-pricks ran through her body, like little needles stabbing down into her every nerve and muscle.

           

**_Riiinggggggggg_ **

****

“AH!”

            “Woah, Mar, are you ok?”

            She keeled over in her seat, gripping her head with her hands, and grinding her teeth. Her vision glazed over, and went red.

            “Marie?!”

 

            _Red, it’s all red. Too red …_

She could here Cara yelling frantically from the driver’s seat.

The red ghost flashed in her mind, its corporeal eyes glowing and bright. Devoted. Vengeful. She recognized those eyes …

 

            **_“Blood for blood.”_**

****

**_“We will never relent.”_ **

****

She screamed.

            The red figure appeared in the middle of the lane, fully formed, an entire body. It stood in the path of the car, eyes like fire and a body of harsh, flaming mist. 

            The wheels screeched as Cara, shocked and screaming, swerved to the right to avoid it, and directly into the nearest tree. They were going 75 miles an hour.

            Marie remembered, after her vision went black, her sister begging for her to wake up. And a red face, fierce and bright, with familiar eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation to Elvhen phrases in the beginning notes.


	2. A New World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [fullmetal_drosophila](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fullmetal_drosophila/works) for editing once again! 
> 
> Elvhen Translation:
> 
> Hahren: Elder 
> 
> Lethallan/ Lethallin: casual and impersonal term for acknowledging another (another elf) 
> 
> Ryn thena: you must wake 
> 
> Atisha: peace
> 
> Telas vena revas: You cannot escape
> 
> Da'len: term of acknowledgement for a young person or child (anyone significantly younger than you) 
> 
> Enansal: blessing/ gift
> 
> (thoughts are italicized as before, Elvhen is bolded)
> 
> Elvhen is taken from [fenxshiral](http://fenxshiral.tumblr.com) and canon Dragon Age Elvhen

She couldn’t feel her body. Thoughts were slow coming, and when she tried to turn her head, she was hardly bothered it wouldn’t budge.

            The scene that had supposedly just occurred played in her mind as a half-dream behind her closed eyes like a blurry movie; cut, choppy, and out of focus. But brighter than usual. The images flashed in her head, intense color like sunlight pouring through stained glass.

            Her mind was struggling, weighed down, almost tired, as if it had been put through a great strain. She felt similar to how she might after being woken up from a deep sleep, her consciousness not fully awake. But there was a strange edge to how she felt, almost unnatural. Colors and pictures in her mind, though blurry, were more bright, vivid. Stunningly so.

            Like her thoughts were more _alive_ , more _there_. Even when she was mostly dreaming. 

            Slowly, the color faded and full consciousness started to return to her.

            On instinct, she tried to open her eyes, to move somehow, but to no avail. Her consciousness sharpened when she realized she couldn’t feel anything, or use any of her senses, even smell. Whether or not she was breathing was impossible to know. Not feeling her own breath or rhythmic rise and fall of her chest scared her. It was a feeling of having no body.

            She woke up, her more awake state quickly turning to panic, bringing her back to herself.

            First, she felt like she wanted to scream.

            Not being able to move does that to you, but she, of course, couldn’t.

            Her inability to scream only made her want to scream even more.

            She couldn’t move, she couldn’t feel her body. She felt absent of form, like she was floating and nowhere all at once.

            For a while, all she did was try to make any sound, any at all, to be able to move or do something _somehow_ , but eventually, she gave up.

            It took some time, but she did.

            And, as she does in all stressful situations, she cussed in her head, all the worst words she knew.

            It worked to calm her down, and after what felt like hours, she had control of herself enough to analyze the situation.

            She thought of what she was always told to do as a law student: think fast, act smart, and fucking _win_. Or, in this case, figure out as soon as possible if you’re dead or not.

            Her apparent bodilessness was not helping.  

            Step 1: _What the hell is going on?_

She ran what she knew through her head as fast as she could.

            She was in the car with her sister. They were going too fast. There was a red ghost. She couldn’t see. Everything went red. Her sister started screaming. And then-

            Everything went black, and after a bit more of hard thinking she could remember a honk, the screeching of wheels, an abrupt stop to the car, her seatbelt digging into her ribs as she flung forward, and then …

            Strange nothingness, and the memory of her sister’s voice, begging for her to wake up.

            It all made sense.

            They crashed. They fucking crashed. Meaning, she was either, a) paralyzed, b) dying, c) in a coma, or d) all of the above.

            _Great. Just fucking fucktastic._

            First step when you think you might be paralyzed or in a coma is to, Marie decided, try to move your body until it moves, one way or another, and then get up and slap Cara so hard that blood comes out her nose.

            Cara seemed well enough to worry over her when Marie herself was most likely bleeding like a spilt drink on the side of the road. The probability that she was alive made Marie feel a huge wave of relief.

            Even if she wasn’t ok, at least she wasn’t dead.

            Getting to her sister and seeing she was okay was all that mattered to her then. So she was going to open her eyes and move, no matter how long it took.

            Which then instigated Step 2: _move_ _._

            Where she could feel the most of herself was right around her brain and head, where nerves tingled when she thought too hard. It was a weak feeling, but still there.

            Focusing on spreading the tingling outward, she tried to move it to the beginning of her spinal cord and down her back. She got as far as the top of her neck.

            Slowly she worked feeling down her neck, and then began on her shoulder area, upper-back, and arms.

            Not being able to feel her body was starting to make her panic. What if parts of her just … weren’t there? And she was trying to create feeling in an arm that was too injured to be saved; was chopped off and thrown into a hospital incinerator bin, rather than still attached to her shoulder as it should have been?

            She took a moment to silently scream to herself, then collected her thoughts and started working on her body once more. Having a mental breakdown wasn’t going to help anything. She needed to focus.

            For at least an hour, Marie kept her mind clear, only thinking about the tingling sensations of her nerves and spreading them out as far as she could.

            A bit more time after that, and she was able to feel her entire body (her hands and feet least of all), her steady breathing, her chest moving up and down with her lungs, and if she focused hard enough, the “bu-bump” of the beating of her heart.

            There also seemed to be a comfortable pillow beneath her head, as well as a nice squishy bed underneath her.

            A hospital, then, she decided.

            She thought, for a moment, about why she couldn’t hear anything.

            Don’t hospitals have those heart monitors that make beeping noises, and shouldn’t hers being going crazy right now and alerting the nurses to come and check?

            _Maybe I’m deaf …_ she thought.

            _Better deaf than in a coma-_

            Realizing her thoughts were entering emotional breakdown territory again, she stopped thinking and focused on trying to open her eyes, when another thought came to her.

            There was no light, given that she could see none through her eyelids.

            For a moment, she wondered if she was also blind.

            Blind, deaf, and paralyzed would just be hell. She hadn’t moved a single limb, yet, after all.

            Focusing on the blackness from her closed eyelids, she looked for light in a worried frenzy. The thought of being so entirely broken in every way was threatening to shatter her resolve to remain calm.

            Slowly, she calmed herself down. Again.

            For what must have been an hour, at least, she had not seen nor heard anything. Not a single sound. The feeling in her body was steadily growing, and the air around her seemed to be very cold, but strangely, this did not make her uncomfortable.

            She felt cold, but she didn’t seem to care.

            She wondered if it was because she was covered in the most amazing fabric she had ever worn in her life. Like it was magic fabric, making the cold not bother her. It was smoother than silk, and was probably extremely expensive.

            _Whatever hospital I’m in_ , she thought, _they must be horrible at properly spending their government money._

            For a while longer, she kept working on her body, though still she couldn’t move a thing, not even her eyelids.  

            And then she noticed it … a faint glow?

            It was blue, and in the corner of her eye, and was slowly coming closer.

            She could hear footsteps. Many.

            Quiet, but there. Sharp and echoing, like they were in a large space with hard floors and walls.

            Instantly, she focused on hearing out the steps; the first sound she had heard for hours.

            The blue glow was growing brighter and brighter, though slowly, and the sounds of the steps were becoming louder, even though she could tell they were still distant.

            By the amount of steps, she concluded it was a group, though small.

            Signs of people made her slightly relieved, as did her apparently working ears and eyes.

            But the light … and the steps, the way they echoed as if the walls were stone. The circumstance wasn’t normal. She couldn’t make sense of the situation.

            She was starting to doubt she was in a hospital.

            There was a single voice that echoed then, close enough that she could tell it was a man’s.

            But what she heard wasn’t English.

            What was scarier, however, was that she could tell what he said.

 

            “ **Check for any that are alive.”**

           

            It was definitely a man’s voice, though gravelly and hard. Commanding. He did not sound friendly.

            More importantly, however,

_What fucking language is that?!?_

            As well as secondly most important,

            _And why the hell can I understand it???_

            Another man’s voice simpered quietly, nearer to her than the first’s. They were getting closer.

            **“This … this isn’t right. The Elders, to take them like this …“**

 _Wait, I know that word,_ Marie thought, _Hahren … that’s elven-_

            **“We’re only taking the slaves. Most of their masters are long dead from the rebellion, almost 10,000 years ago, killed in their eternal sleep. They won’t be missed,”** said the first man, his tone sharp.

            _Slaves?!? What the fuck do they mean by “slaves”-_

            The scared man stuttered, **“but … th-they’re so old. Trained in the way of the eternal sleep, some having explored the dreaming world for all this time …”** he sounded in awe, **“like the great nobles and scholars of Arlathan … no regular slaves know the secrets of the beyond as they must …”**

Each word passed through Marie’s thoughts with no real recognition. Her brain had gone into confused shock right when she heard “Arlathan.” What she was hearing … she didn’t want to think about. Her only reasoning for the situation was that these people were absolutely insane. But the fact she could understand what was being said, in supposedly Dragon Age Elvhen, she had no logical explanation for. And this scared her into terrified thoughtlessness.

            At this point, she was starting to hope she actually _was_ in a coma. 

            The first man let out a rough laugh that was dry and malicious. It made Marie feel a whole new wave of panic.

            When he spoke, his voice was much too close to where she lay, his footsteps having sounded closer and closer. He must have been around fifty feet away, at most.

            They were moving fast.

            **“Even better,”** he said **, “imagine how much they’ll sell for! Just one would be worth ten regular batches at least.”**  

            He chuckled dryly in sick amusement, his steps coming ever closer. But then they stopped abruptly, and the next he spoke, his voice was low. Mocking.

            **“Ha. I think I’ve found one, friends.”**

By listening to his steps, Marie could tell was coming towards her, though slowly. She heard a low moan from next to her, as if from someone who was struggling to speak, and the act caused them pain.

            She felt like she wanted to scream.

            **“You know what’s great, about these old ass slaves?”**

            In her mind’s eye, she could almost see the other man shake his head nervously.

            **“Well then, I’ll tell you,”** he said, his voice rumbling in his throat **, “you see …”**

There was a loud “thwap!” noise, and then a pained groan in response.

            **“I can do whatever I want to ‘em.”**

There was another “thwap!” and a pained groan, louder than before.

            **“I can hit ‘em.”**

            A “thwap!” and then a groan.

            **“Cut ‘em.”**

The groan was a cry this time, though still muffled, as if the person’s mouth was gagged.

            **“Even fuck ‘em, if I want.”**

The man laughed again, **“all because of the binding charm. Master asleep, can’t move. Master dead, half-awake, but still can’t move. They can _never_ run away.”**

 **“Imagine laying around for millennia, not able to move or speak. Forever bound to your master, even after their death,”** he sighed wistfully, **“It’s almost pitiful.”**

            He was still laughing from right beside Marie. She was in full-on panic. Marie’s heart was beating fast, echoing in her ears. Her mind was blank, too many thoughts screaming in her head all at once. Her fight or flight instincts were sending adrenaline through her body, making her want to run, yet she couldn’t.

 

            One thing was for sure, though. She wasn’t in a hospital.

 

            She wanted to get up and run.

            She had to go … she had to get away!

            And once again, frantically she tried to move, to somehow escape.

            But, of course, her body didn’t respond. She tried again and again and again.

            But still, she couldn’t move.

            She couldn’t get away, and that realization made her want to scream.

            Only a whimper escaped from her mouth.

            The laughing ceased, **“oh … what do we have here?”** she could hear his voice turn in her direction, **“another one? So soon?”**

            A whimper escaped from her again in her fear. She was going to die. This was it. She didn’t even want to think about the implications of what he said or her situation. He was dangerous, and if she didn’t get away ...

            The voice across from her let out a muffled sob.

            **“And a woman at that …”**

A callused hand touched her cheek. It moved down her face to her neck. She felt the hand wrap around her neck, and then another move down the other side of her face till it went to her chin and a thumb pulled on her bottom lip. It tugged at her chin, pulling forward her head limply, opening her mouth. Hot breath on her neck sent shivers down her spine.  

            She couldn’t move.

            She couldn’t scream.

            All she could do was whimper, waiting.

            Nothing had ever been so terrifying in her entire life.

            **“Sir …”** said the other man in a frightened whisper, **“the … products … I don’t think … I don’t think the buyers would like them … used like that-“**

The hands left her, her head falling back into the pillow, rolling onto its side.

            **“And so what if they wouldn’t?”** he snapped.

            Marie’s head thrummed in pain at his yell, close to her ear.

            **“The slaves could … tell of how they were treated. It would lower our reputability …”**

There was a long silence. Marie could hear nervous shuffling a ways in front of her.

            The man who had grabbed her let out a long sigh, **“Fine,”** he ground out.

            Marie heard him straighten, and walk away.

            **“Viren, wait for No-Balls over here to knock them out, and then bag ‘em. These two right now, and then we’ll come back for more. Got it?”**

 **“Yes, sir.”** said a new man, farther away than the other two.

Marie heard shuffling steps coming towards her, along with the blue glow from before, which grew closer as the steps did the same.

            A resolute panic came over her then.

            She was completely in their control. All she could do was wait.

            **“Oh, and No-Balls, heal that one up. He’s bleeding all over his pretty gown. Losing good money.”**

**“Ye-yes, sir.”**

With that, she heard loud steps moving away as the leader walked back the direction they came.

            A soft green light shined over the blue from next to her for a few moments. She heard the second man say a few soft words, though what he said was inaudible. The quiet whimpering from the person across from her halted. A violet light shined then, for a few moments and then faded gently out. The person went completely silent.

            She heard the shuffling steps now coming towards her, the blue glow growing brighter with each step.  

            **“I carry only fire of the beyond. I will not hurt you,”** said the voice of the jittery man, though he now sounded surprisingly serene. 

Strangely enough, at these words, Marie felt unnervingly relieved.

 **“Be calm,”** he whispered.

The same, soft violet glow filled her vision, and she felt her fear ebb away. Her thoughts slowed, her soft whimpering ceased. Her body relaxed.

            Inexplicably, she felt at ease.

            **“Fen’Harel’s blessing, Hahren.”**

She felt a kiss on her forehead, feather light.

            He wasn’t hurting her. She didn’t know why.

            **“I cannot assist you as of now, but know, all slaves will be free. _You_ will be free.”**

The name “Fen’Harel” registered briefly in her slowing thoughts for a moment, and then the name “Solas,” but the realization died quickly. Her body was beginning to feel heavy, her eyes rolling back into her head.

            She felt something, like fine paper, be pressed into her palm.

            **“Rest now, Honored Elder, and know that Fen’Harel is with you.”**

Her slowing train of thoughts ceased, blackness taking over the soft blue glow, and with those gentle words, Marie fell into a dreamless slumber.

 

 

            Soft velvet under her neck, cold sheets.

            A sweet smell, like perfume, but subtle.

            She groaned. She didn’t want to wake up.

            _Five more minutes …_

**“Lethallan …”**

            _What-?_

She felt a light touch on her arm.

            **“Lethallan, ryn thena …”**

_What … did she say?_

She opened her eyes, and turned her head towards the voice, the person beside her most obviously not human.

            Her ears were pointed, like those of an elf, and huge, sticking out from her head quite obviously, but in an elegant, unearthly beautiful way. Her eyes were a bright purple, her hair dark black, and everything about her seemed … surreal.

            Marie jumped up out of her bed, back against the wall.

            **“Atisha.“** said the elf woman, showing her empty hands as a universal sign of peace.

            Marie’s eyes darted in every direction, taking in her surroundings. She was in a long, thin room, though ornate and elegant. The walls seemed to have designs encrusted in gold, the floors a glossy marble. Lamps of blue fire lit up the walls, and when she looked a little harder, she saw a door on the far end, unguarded, no one to stop her.

            She ran.

            She was breathing hard, adrenaline pumping through her body.

            It felt like a moment ago that she was frozen in place, unable to save herself.

            Now that she could move, nothing was going to stop her.

            She was going to run until things seemed normal. Till she could find something recognizable. Something safe.

            She banged open the door, leaving the elf yelling behind her.

            She ran down the hall, as fast as she could, running into a few yelling and shocked elves as she went.

            The hall was long, but there was a double door at the end, two guards standing at attention.

            They saw her, and started shouting.

            A spear of ice was flying towards her from her side, and noticing it just in time, she flicked her wrist instinctively. An invisible shield sprung up around her, the ice shattering against it.

            Her thoughts reeled. What just happened-

She ran even faster.

            There was a small room to her left, a kitchen. She knocked into many screaming elves, and one actually tried to grab her, but she whipped her arm to the right, a great whip of fire lashing out as she did so.

The elf screamed and clutched their burnt arm.

            Marie tried to run even faster.

            She pushed and shoved at anyone one that got in her way. Elves were screaming and yelling, some rushing off, probably to get guards.

            She had to hurry.

            Her skin tingled, and she knew, somehow, something was rushing at her from behind.

            She flicked her wrist again, still running, and heard whatever it was crash against her shield, making a huge impact of sparking electricity bounce off the walls and towards all around her.

            It was shocking, how big of a burst the impact made, almost as if the shield amplified the effect. Electricity sprang to every corner of the room, from one body to the next, harming everything it could reach, except her.  

            Making it through the next door that was across the kitchen, she ran into a great hall.

            Guards, in the all too familiar golden body-tight armor she knew _far_ too well, were running at her with swords and pummels from the right.

            She ran to the left.

            The hall was huge, with a glass ceiling and stone pillars reaching up and arching over, giving the place the feeling of a massive cathedral.

            Side paths ran behind the pillars, and Marie, looking for a way free of people, ran down to the nearest one and towards two more great double doors now suspiciously unguarded.

            That didn’t make sense. Why would they be unguarded? If they were trying to stop her, wouldn’t there be people blocking the doors?

            She kept running, with no one trying to stop her; no ice flying in her direction or grabbing hands.

            She was almost at the great doors when an elf servant stepped out of her way, letting her pass.

            Strange.

            Her brain caught up with herself, and she took a split second to study her surroundings, slightly slowing her pace.

            A white glint flashed in the corner of her eyes, and when she snapped her head in its direction, an outline of a clear, shimmering, armored body disappeared as quickly as she spotted it.

            But she was too late to react, and right as she turned to run in the opposite direction, two guards appeared out of thin air, their bodies manifesting before her, blocking her way.

            One grabbed her by the arm and pushed her down to her knees by the shoulders, a hand shoving her forehead to the floor.

            She gasped for air as she fell.

            _No no no no, HELP-_

**“Telas vena revas.”**

But this time, she knew what the words meant, the phrase rushing through her head, her thoughts scrambling to understand anything; to gain leverage she didn’t have.

            **_You cannot escape._**

A familiar violet glow emanated around her, closing in on her vision. She felt her eyes slowly start to close, her body feel heavy.

            The armored hands left her body to fall to the ground. She rolled onto her back, her head rolling until she was looking straight up, struggling to keep her eyes open with all her strength.

            They were watering. She was sure she was crying.

            A pale face looked down at her, dark hair falling from underneath his hood, his eyes a murky green. Red markings were drawn on his face, harsh and strong as they curved and swirled, accentuating the sharp lines of his face.

            She recognized the markings. So familiar yet … too real.

            They shouldn’t be real … none of it should be.

            But it was. Everything was. And she couldn’t escape.

            Again.

            Her vision was blurring and she could feel tears streaming down her cheek and chin.

            The armored elf kneeled down, slowly wrapping an arm under her knees and another under her shoulders.

            **“Prepare a cell,”** he commanded to a guard on his right as he lifted her, who bowed and walked away, the wrest of the guards dispersing.

            Marie understood what he said this time, easily, without thought.

            She tried to struggle, weakly writhing her body in his arms.

            **“Let … let me,”** she fought to keep her eyes on his, clenching her teeth as she spoke, **“Let me go …”**

Her words were foreign and strange as she spoke them, her brain recoiling, trying to make sense of what she said, even though she knew.

            **“I am sorry, Hahren** ,” he placed his armored hand on her forehead, violet pulsing from his fingers. She hissed at the feeling of cold medal.

            **“You fought well.”**

She fell asleep, again. Dreamless, like before. Sad green eyes the last thing she’d seen.

 

~

 

            When she woke up, she was in a cell. A nicely decorated cell, but a cell nonetheless.

            Compared to what she had seen as she was running around, flinging magic (apparently) in all directions, it was actually quite shabby.

            But everything is shabby, compared to all that glass and stone and unnecessary bling.

            A floor shouldn’t be made of polished marble and gold. That’s just retarded.

            Also, it’s hard to run on. Not enough friction.

            Stupid video game elves.

            She had accepted that, in all probability, this was some strange dream or reality based in Dragon Age. It _was_ the easiest explanation, anyway. She felt strangely calm about it, in a weirdly stable feeling of acceptance. She briefly wondered why she wasn’t freaking out.

            But then again, she thought, _easier to not think about it._

            She got up and stretched her back, which cracked rather disgustingly.

            Every joint in her body seemed to be cracking horribly, actually.

            She looked around her tiny hotel room/jail cell. There was a nice embroidered stool, a small desk with paper and some sort of strange writing utensil, a nice, person-long mirror, and a weird glowing rune thing on the wall that made her head ache when she stared at it too long.

            Huh. Magic. Of course.

            Nothing was surprising her by this point.

            If elves are real, especially _Dragon Age elves_ , then magic is just an added bonus.

            She looked down on the small carpet she had woken up on. They gave her a stool, a desk, things to write with, a mirror with more inlaid gold than could ever be considered appropriate, but they couldn’t give her a bed?

            That’s just plain mean.

            She huffed.

            _Elves. Master Race, my ass._

She was dressed in rather fashionable prisoner clothes, which were very snuggly warm, even if they looked like overrated pajamas, and were a bit too tight for her liking. 

            She walked over the mirror, mentally preparing herself for she might see when she looked.

            And thank god she did.

            Her ears were pointy as, well, an elf’s, and she looked like Princess Zelda reborn, but with blonde hair, and way more angry.

            And hell, was she angry.

            There was nothing she recognized. Everything was different, except her eyes. She had been a regular weight before, but now she felt stick thin. Dainty, even. It wasn’t that she looked anorexic, but her whole body looked smaller. Her shoulders weren’t as broad, her hips not as wide, her thighs much skinnier, and she was pretty sure her boobs had lost at least two sizes, compared to her size D before.

            And her face. Her face … was completely different. It was much more thin and sharp. Fierce looking, actually. And that matched with her blazing Glare-Of-Death she was using to try and mentally burn her reflection made her look rather terrifying.

            At least her hair was still dirty-blonde, and her eyes the same redish-brown.

            That didn’t rectify the fact she was an elf, however, or the fact she wanted to break every object in sight. Or that magic was actually a _thing._ And Dragon Age was never just a video game, but a whole _separate reality._

A heads up woud’ve been nice. Maybe she could’ve had a convenient vision from God like Moses. “Oh, by the way, I made Thedas, too. And elves. They’re all real. And I’m going to poof you there in a couple days. LOL #fckyouMarie.”

            She laughed despite herself.

            If this was some sick joke, it wasn’t funny.

            There was no other explanation she could come up with _except_ Dragon Age. The vacuum tight armor was enough by itself, but the language … that couldn’t be anything _but_ ancient Elvhen. And she would know, since she had been trying to teach herself the basics before she had gotten into this whole mess.  

            And the magic. She was fairly sure she’d done a couple tricks or two. Thinking about how was too complicated, so she settled with the explanation that it was just a fluke, caused by her attaining her new elf-body. Not that she would be complaining if she could learn how to use it sometime. Maybe hunt down that guy who molested her back when she, as she presumed, first ended up in this world, taking advantage of her inability to move or see. He was fucking _sick._ She made it a personal goal to whack him with some fire in the face.

            Always the pragmatist.

            She was busy thinking and mumbling to herself about her insane predicament when a small elf women had quietly walked to right outside the cell’s bars. She was looking at Marie with an intimidated expression, probably worried about Marie’s state of mind. She guessed talking to yourself wasn’t normal in ancient Elvhenan either. Marie couldn’t blame her for being worried. She was already considering she had, for once and for all, actually gone insane.

            At least that explanation was simple.

            **“Yes?”** Marie asked, ignoring how the hell she knew how to speak Elvhen.

            She vaguely remembered doing so before when she was captured during her attempted escape, but the memory was fuzzy.  

            The woman had red-branching vallaslin she immediately recognized as Mythal’s. Interesting. She was pretty sure the guard who knocked her out had something different. She definitely remembered some type of design on his face, and its general shape.

            She snorted. Her geeky knowledge was actually useful now.

            The woman bowed deeply, her voice pitchy and wavering, **“Hahren! Excuse the intrusion, but I must prepare you for your new master.”**

Master. _Master._ If that meant what she thought it did-

            **“It is of the utmost urgency!”** the woman continued, **“the trainers are not patient, and they are looking foreword to working with someone of your caliber.”**

_What._

_**“The trainers -?”**_

The woman nodded vigorously, standing up from her bow, **“yes, Hahren! You’ve been bought, you see. Sorry, I probably should have started with that first …”**

Bought. She’d been _bought._

_Hell. No._

When she spoke, her voice was biting, **“ I’ve been _bought?”_**

She understood that the ancient elves were into slavery, but if she just happened to be so lucky as to not only magically arrive in Thedas and, as far as she could tell, Elvhenan, but also be pulled into the slave trade, one of the most infamous and focused on parts of the entire series, she would scream. Or maybe not. But she’d definitely want to.

The woman bowed again, **“yes, Hahren.”**

 **“Well then,”** she started pacing, jaw clenched, **“who has _bought_ me, exactly?” **

**“You’ve been accepted into one of Elgar’nan’s palaces as a sentinel. One near Arlathan itself, I believe. Specifically chosen by one of the head priests.”** She shuffled her feet, **“you are very lucky.”**

Marie halted her pacing and turned her glare towards the woman. She made a small startled noise in response.

            **“Explain.”**

**“E-explain what-?”**

Her first clenched as she felt anger at her situation. Being dumped into another but mysterious means was one thing, but _this_ …

            **“ _Everything.”_**

After a long hour, Marie had decided she interrogated the poor woman long enough. Supposedly, she was some great warrior, as all “sentinels” should be, and this “head priest” of the palace thought she’d be perfect for a high-ranking position. She also learned, gleaning from some of the strange comments the woman said, she was _really_ old. At least her elf-body was. The woman had heard rumors in the servants’ quarters that she was found by tomb raiders looking for some valuable slaves, and that Marie must be very ancient, since slaves haven’t been aloud to learn the way of Uthenera for thousands of years.  

            She decided she’d think about that later. Or maybe never. Sure as hell not when she was in the process of becoming a slave to some Eternal Fire Overlord and his lackey, both of which shouldn’t even be real.

            Priorities.

            Marie let her proceed with what she had come for, which was, as she later found out, to do her hair and makeup and squeeze and buckle her body into armor that looked much to similar to a sentinel’s for her liking, but with less pretty designs and no cape.

            Sadly, also lacking in knee-faces.

            When she looked at herself in the mirror after, she wished she didn’t. She looked like character pulled from the game. Directly. She was holding on to her own identity by a thread, the few physical similarities all she had, and seeing herself look so foreign, so like an _elf,_ shocked her into reality more than anything else had. 

            This was real. What was happening was real. And she had to find someway to take control of her situation, but she had no idea where to start.

            She was on her way to working for a tyrannical _god,_ and she had no idea what to do.

            Going along with it seemed so much more safe. So much more simple. This was a world she didn’t know, and all she felt like she could do was be dragged along, and hope an opportunity to escape or be whisked away back to her ownworld would present itself. Somehow.

            What a horrible plan. Sit around and hope something good happens.

            Knowing herself, she probably wouldn’t stick with it. She’s never just sat back and let life beat her up, even when she wanted to.

            **“Hahren, we should be going now. A sentinel has come as your escort to the palace. We’ve already kept him waiting for so long …”**

Marie sighed, **“Yes, of course.”**

They made their way out of the cell and up stairs to the higher level, back to the great hall where she was prevented from escaping last night.

            Various servants she recognized running into were glaring at her bloody murder, some limping ones giving her looks like she was the bane of their existence. She couldn’t blame them. Her random magic usage was pretty epic. Not like she’d have any idea how to do it again, but still. Epic.

            As they walked, she tried to ignore the extreme splendor of the place she hadn’t truly absorbed as she was running for dear life previously. Trees grew inside, winding themselves up around great stone pillars, statues of dragons and dragon-women she recognized as meant to represent Mythal lining the walls. The entire ceiling was glass, and great mosaics made up the floor, gold and crystal inlaid into almost every surface.

            It was so beautiful, it was on the verge of nauseating.

            Guards were eying her through their hoods, some with their hands rested on their weapons as if waiting for her to attack or make another attempt at escape.

            She wondered how they moved so fast in their incredibly tight armor of theirs.

            Her thighs were chafing, and it was not fun. The armor made her legs look like overgrown chicken wings. An acquired taste, she guessed.

            Elvhen fashion turned out to be a little more than bizarre, verging on the side of just plain stupid, especially when she noticed a rather annoyingly pompous-looking elf wearing what seemed to be dragon horns on her head like a hat.

            She hoped they were fake. But, after brief consideration, she decided they probably weren’t.

            Disconcerting.

            Looking more closely at the guards as they passed, she noticed they all had some version of Mythal’s vallaslin, as did many of the elves she saw wondering the place.

            Actually, what place _was_ this? Assuming vallaslin is a sign of slavery, why would there be so many slaves in one area, and all Mythal’s, for that matter.

            They were almost at the entrance. She decided to ask while she could.

            **“Lethalan?”** Marie asked.

            Once again, her nerdy knowledge had come in handy.

            **“Yes?”**

**“What is this place? I recognize the vallaslin of Mythal, but nothing else. I am curious.”**

She silently thanked law school for teaching her to be so good at bullshitting. It’s practically an art.

            **“Oh, I’m so glad you asked!”** she clapped her hands together enthusiastically. **“This is a place of judgment. Not quite a temple, though. It is only for judgment, not worship. Any citizen who feels they have been wronged can come here and pray to the Well of Truth. If Mythal deems them and their cause worthy, she speaks to them in a dream, and agrees to kill their enemies and bring justice. If they are untruthful, however, and ill-intended or the wrong-doers themselves, she kills them silently in a dream instead, as is justified.”** She smiled at Marie, **“I am very proud to serve Her and Her cause.”**

That was a little more complicated than Marie would’ve liked, though very interesting. “This is just a glorified court house but without the court” would have been a nicer response.

            One thing, out of all the other things, she didn’t understand though, is why she had ended up there in the first place.

            **“And how did I get here? I wouldn’t think a place of justice to be suitable for slave trade.”**

 **“Oh, um, you are a special case, actually,”** responded the woman while she fidgeted with her hands, **“I had heard rumors of a kind man insisting we take you in, as well as another, so that you would both be treated well. Lucky, you are. Unheard of for slave traders to ever be so considerate.”**

She recalled a kind voice, telling her she would be free. The only kindness she had found in such a terrifying situation.

            If that was the man who had brought her here, she was grateful. She had gotten better treatment than she might have expected, having learned about American slave trade in school.

            But she had this nagging feeling that he wasn’t a slave trader at all. She remembered him saying something about Fen’Harel …

            If Fen’Harel is alive now, then Solas is alive, and that means Solas is a _real person._

_Holy shit._

            **“Solas …”**

The woman looked at her curiously, **“pardon?”**

She smiled reassuringly, **“apologies. I was deep in thought.”**

**“Oh, of course.”**

They arrived at the entrance, two guards eying them incredulously.

            **“This her?”** one asked. He sounded rather disdainful. If he was aloud to, she wondered if he would have spit on her.

            She bet he was one of the guards who were chasing her from before. She hoped some of her accidental magic had been flung his way in the process. He seemed like an ass.

            **“Yes. Is the escort ready?”**

The guard scoffed, **“only has been for around _two hours_.” **

So they’re immortal, _and_ impatient.  

            The woman then went into a spiel of apologies for their lateness. The guard seemed unimpressed.

            Eventually, after she was done harassing him with sentiments, he placed his hand, glowing with some spell, on a section of the closed doors. Green light ran in extravagant patterns engraved into the stone of the doors and in-between where they were sealed shut. A great lurching noise made her slightly jump where she stood, as they began to move by their own volition, opening to reveal a great courtyard. A pool of water stood proudly at the end of the yard, up high on raised ground with steps leading to it, eerily similar in appearance to the Well of Sorrows from the Temple of Mythal quest. A series of many tall mirrors (or, as Marie decided, _eluvians_ ) surrounded the pool from the back, and it was a very beautiful sight. It was obviously less extravagant than the temple depicted in the game, as it wasn’t an actual temple itself, but seeing such a similar looking area as she had run around with her Inquisitor in on the screen of her little laptop was amazing.

            Like it was fantasy brought to life, the whole concept of her situation sinking in more than before.

            The developers were more accurate in their depiction then they could have ever realized.

            They continued to walk through the courtyard and up the steps, slaves giving them skeptical looks as they paused their tending to the gardens.

            Once they made it up the steps, her thighs were so sore from all the skin-tight metal chafing she wanted to punch something.

            She briefly wondered how Solas could have been wearing the same thing in Trespasser, while looking so calm and in control. But then again, he also told her Lavellan that he was going to destroy the entire world with little more than a kind-of-sad face and one really big frown.

            That guy is hard-core.

            She started shaking her legs, trying to separate skin from metal.

            She looked a bit like a jittery chicken, her arms making weird movements as she wiggled her legs.

            A rumbling chuckle made her look up in surprise.

            **“Ah, the next great sentinel of my division,”** said a man in decorative sentinel armor, red designs carved into the metal and a white cloak and hood, golden and red thread twisting and turning in sharp patterns. He bowed his head with a grin, **“honored.”**

She blinked at him, and then scowled. He had the same murky-green eyes as the “guard” who’d been the one to restrain her and push her to the ground. He had the same vallaslin as well, as far as she could remember. It was red and sharp and curving, a startling contrast to his jovial expression. She supposed it must be Elgar’nan’s. She had only ever given her Lavellans Mythal’s and June’s vallaslin, so she wouldn’t know.

            **“Had no one taught you the spell to refit your armor?”**

 **“Oh no! I thought she knew!”** said the woman as she scurried over to in front of Marie and placed a hand on both her shoulders. White light ran along her armor, curving and molding itself to her body instantly.

            If only she did that half an hour ago.

            _Think of a good excuse. Think …_

 **“In my time,”** she squared her shoulders, **“I had subordinates to refit my armor _for_ me.” **

_Do slaves even get servants?_

He quirked an eyebrow, **“yes, of course. As would be expected.”**

She nodded as sagely as she could manage, **“Indeed.”**

_That sounded so retarded._

The woman coughed awkwardly.

            **“And you are Ilaana, correct?”**

            _I am?_

**“She is! I’m sorry for our horrible tardiness. She had so many questions and I thought it only right-”**

**“Wait,”** she gave the woman a hard look, **“how do you know that name?”**

Ilaana. The exact name she had given her Lavellan Inquisitor. She had thought the name felt right, having resonated with her in a way when she had picked it out, but it being the exact same of whoever’s body she was in seemed too much of a coincidence. 

            **“Oh, well I just assumed- if that isn’t the name you prefer …“**

The sentinel gave Marie a smile. Controlled. Almost fake. His eyes seemed to be a bit too focused on her for her liking.

            **“If what our benefactors said is true, then you are well-versed in the realm of The Dreaming. Your name would have been engraved into your wresting place, I would assume, to mark you separate from the others. Unless I am mistaken? I do not know much, myself.”**

His eyes were piercing, his mouth only barely in a smirk.

            He was testing her. There was no proof that he truly knew anything. But he noticed her strange behavior, and he wanted to root it down to its source.

            She smiled at him, making sure to bare some teeth.

            **“A name is but a name to most, Da’len. I have had many, most of which none but I remember. Certain names hold weight, however. Purpose. Meaning. Forgive me if I am startled. I had not hoped to hear it again.”**

Perfect. Just pompous and mysterious enough to actually be believable. She silently thanked Solas for teaching her the art of lying “only by omission.” This was her new version of “I saw it in the fade.”

            His eyes softened, became more remorseful. His smile was genuine, this time. Sad.

            He believed her.

            **“My deepest apologies, Hahren. I meant no offense.”**

She gave him a slight nod in recognition.

            The woman made a soft squeak of a noise, fidgeting with her hands. **“How old _are_ you? _”_**

Marie made a point to chuckle and let out a longwinded sigh.

            **“ _Very_.” **

**** _Twenty-five, actually._

**“I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself,”** said the man, trying to change the subject.

            Marie snorted, **“none of us have. But I, evidently, didn’t need to.”**

 **“I’m Hallana!”** intervened Hallana (apparently).

            He grasped his hands behind his back, adjusting his posture, **“Ethvir, First Sentinel of the First Division of Palace Elgara’Ena.”**

That literally meant almost nothing, but Marie smiled in approval anyway.

            **“Impressive.”**

He gave her a polite nod in return, **“as, I suspect, you must be as well. Though you must be considerably weakened from your incredibly long slumber, of course.”**

            She remembered the woman telling her about how amazing she must be; how old and wise. Her magic wasn’t subpar before, as far as she could tell, since she _did_ manage to hold her own, but the amount of experience and knowledge she would need have to have to be able to be a sentinel matching up to all her expectations was something she knew was impossible for her to fake. She had to come up with an excuse … something believable. Pitiful, maybe. Something too sad or personal to question …

            She took a long and shaky breath, looking down as she did so. **“In more ways than one, I am sorry to say.”**

He gave her a puzzled look, having politely not spoken up so she could continue.

            **“Memories are a fickle thing in the Land of The Dreaming when not dealt with properly.”** She thought of her inability to move, to see, to feel. Surely, that state was not usual to most waking up from Uthenera. And then she remembered the cruel voice, delighting in her inability to move, to _escape_ , like it was some sweet delicacy he wished to savor. No, it mustn’t have been usual at all. 

            **“My spirit was … abused.”** Tears welled up at her eyes, not fake, but real. Her sentiment of being abused was _real._ **“I do not know how, and I do not know _why-“_** she paused for a moment to recollect herself, **“but it is, in fact, the case. I do not know why I am here, how I am here, and what I was before. I cannot begin to tell you how _terrifying-“_**

            She felt a hand on her shoulder, the pressure comforting, even if it was light over her armor.

            **“I am sorry.”** Hallana whispered, her eyes well up with tears as well.

            Somewhere, deep in Marie’s heart, she felt a pang of triumph. It was easy to manipulate, and it always gave her a feeling of strange power over others. At times, it would scare her, her joy in others being as simple as pawns in her hands.

            A shaky sigh escaped her lips, from both her sadness and her realization that even when all she knew was ripped away from her, she still took joy in manipulation. It made her want to be sick.

            **“Ilaana,”** said Ethvir, giving her a look of sadness and empathy, **“I understand.”**

Meeting his eyes, she almost wanted to believe he did.

He began to walk forward and around the well, gesturing for them to follow. Hallana gave her a light nudge in his direction, and they walked with him towards the eluvians.

            They stopped towards the one right from the center, golden ornamental rays of sunlight stretching out from its frame.

            **“Here, we take our leave,”** said Ethvir. **“I will inform my superiors of your condition and try, to the best of my abilities, to make your situation** **accommodable for your wellbeing. But,”** he gave her serious look, more pitiful than before, **“I cannot promise anything. Elgar’nan is stern in his way, and so are his followers.”**

Marie felt her intense worry come back to her. She had almost forgot just _who_ she was becoming a slave to. The kindness of Ethvir was unexpected, and, in all likelihood, unusual. What she had found while playing the Trespasser DLC, particularly from one worrying codex, Elgar’nan was not a master a slave would ever wish to have. The general Dragon Age fandom seemed to hate him well enough, even with such little given lore about his corruption. But what was given, even in just a few codexes, was adequate for him to be viewed as irrevocably evil by most fans.

            There was a codex, Marie recalled, describing him sacrificing slaves in a blood ritual to engrave himself into a mountain. Each one dead, just so he could have a goddamn _statue_ -

            She shuddered.

            Ethvir, having noticed her worry, spoke up, **“you must have learned of Him in your travels of the Dreaming. An expression like that says as much.”**

            She nodded slowly. Saying anything out of line might be dangerous. **“I have, though not as much as you might think.”**

 **“Though enough?”** he said, in a way more like a statement than a question.

She met his eyes, her expression forced neutral. **“Yes.”**

He gripped her by the shoulder, his voice soft, yet confidant. Reassuring.

            **“Strength has gotten you far. Hold onto it. A strong will is not so easily broken.”**

Marie wondered briefly why he was being so kind. And how, with his seeming lack of corruption, he had risen to such a high rank as he did; a leader among slaves. She decided to be careful. Not everyone is ever truly as they seem, especially her.

            He released her, and then turned to the mirror, waving a hand over its surface. Blue light sprung from its glass, rippling and pulsing like water.

            **“Before you leave,”** interrupted Hallana, as she took Marie’s hand and placed a small piece of paper into it. She recognized it by touch, remembering a similar event when a different hand had placed it into hers, a voice whispering of freedom.

            She looked down at it, and unfolded it carefully in her palm. Two parallel rows of slanted eyes, three each, were drawn in black ink, so careful design that it was evident it was done with great care.

            Below were two sequences of foreign symbols. Words. She stared at them, the symbols appearing in her mind’s eye, their corresponding sounds coming to her slowly, eventually forming words, a phrase she could understand.

            **_Fen’Harel Enansal_**

**_Fen’Harel’s Blessing_ **

She folded up the paper quickly, her heart thumping in her chest.

            **“I do not know who this _Fen’Harel_ is,” ** said Hallana, **“but the paper seemed important. You gripped it in your hand as you slept. I kept it for you, in case it was of any value.”**

_She doesn’t know who he is? But how-_

            Marie looked up at Hallana. Her expression was honest, empathetic even. No, she didn’t know.

            _The rebellion_ -

            The voice replayed in her thoughts once again, clear and sharp, his tone empowered. Confident.

            **_“All slaves will be free.”_**

She remembered his voice, unwavering. His promise to her of freedom, even as he put her to sleep, sending her off into slavery.

            He sounded so sure. Like he had credit behind his words; assurance that there would be a fight, and the slaves would _win_.

            _The rebellion. It’s not just some fantasy; some storyline of a make-pretend world._

_It’s real._

_And it’s starting._

**“Hahren?”** said Hallana, her expression worried.

            She was staring at the folded paper in her palm, her expression hard and thinking.

            **“Sorry, I-“** she closed her eyes for a moment, regaining her composure. **“Yes, it is important. Thank you.”**

She looked up and towards Ethvir, who was staring at her, his gaze critical.

            There was a brief flash in his eyes; something akin to shock. But it was gone as quickly as it came, and he followed it with a respectful smile, as if he had noticed nothing.

            He stepped to the side, extending his arm for her to take. **“Shall we?”**

Marie smiled in return, interlocking their arms together.

            Hallana said goodbye, waving vigorously, saying they must see each other again sometime. Maybe in The Dreaming.

            Together, Marie and Ethvir stepped through the eluvian, the magnificence of The Crossroads rising before them, once again the magic of Elvhenan shocking her into silence.

            Everything was beautiful. Beautiful and wrong. Like it shouldn’t be real. Like it was too perfect to exist.

            But it did. It all did.

            Dragon Age was no longer a video game.

            It was real. Tangible. Magical.

            And Marie was thrown into it, for better or for worse.

            Into a new life. A new _world._  


End file.
